


Clawen One Shots

by CricketScribbles



Category: Jurassic Park - All Media Types, Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Baking, Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Cookies, Cuddles, Drama, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Hot Chocolate, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Romance, Short & Sweet, Tropes, one maisie fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-22 10:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17058317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CricketScribbles/pseuds/CricketScribbles
Summary: Clawen one shots. Includes: hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, holidays.





	1. Prompt: Mornings Together

Claire’s eyes slid open to find Owen’s bungalow awash in a lavender haze of pre-dawn hours. The weight of Owen’s arm was draped over her waist, hot and heavy, pinning her to the mattress. 

She sighed, shifted to glance at the clock. 6am.

Claire began to squirm her way out from underneath Owen’s arm. But she didn’t get very far before Owen tightened his grip, his fingers nestled in the spaces between her ribs.

“No,” he mumbled, his breath soft at her shoulder.

“No?” Claire said, amused. “Owen, I have to get up.”

“’s Saturday. Sleep in.”

Claire made another attempt to move but Owen scooped his arm around her, drawing her into the warm curve of his body.

“You say that every day,” Claire replied.

Owen buried his face in Claire’s neck, his lips brushing her skin, somewhere between a kiss and a caress. She could feel Owen’s heartbeat against her back, a steady, even rhythm to accompany the rise and fall of his breathing. 

“You were in the Navy,” Claire continued, her fingers idly tracing the back of his hand resting against her stomach. “Shouldn’t you be used to getting up early?”

Owen grunted and nuzzled at her earlobe. “Not in the Navy anymore.”

“I still have a job though,” Claire countered. “So do you.”

Owen said nothing. But his fingers skimmed from her stomach to her hip with a squeeze, a small, unspoken acknowledgement that he wouldn’t get in her way.

Claire sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She reached for her robe, draped over the back of the chair. 

She stopped. 

Owen had reached out and trailed his fingertips down the length of her bare spine. A feather-light touch that might have otherwise held a sexual overtone apart from the fact that Owen’s eyes were still closed. 

Claire paused, the bathrobe clutched to her chest in one hand, sliding toward forgotten. She skimmed the back of her knuckles across Owen’s cheek. He mumbled sleep-laden nonsense and angled his head to kiss her palm with a gentle, lingering press of his lips, as if to say, _I miss you already._

Claire let her bathrobe drop to the floor. As she slipped under the covers again, Owen held his arm out to her. She settled in close to him until the length of her body was flush against his. 

“Five more minutes,” Claire relented. “But then I really do need to go.”

Owen pulled the sheets around them both in a cocoon of warmth, shutting out the first blush of dawn. Claire could feel him grin, his lips curved upward against her temple. 

“Don’t,” Claire whispered.

“Don’t what?”

“Just...no talking,” she said.

Owen’s palm drifted up her back, tripping along the vertebrae of her spine, the landscape of her ribs, to thread his fingers through her hair. 

It was quiet. Peaceful. 

But the daylight was coming and soon it would illuminate the mess that they were. Claire would be back to butting heads with Owen. The sun would ignite that constant barrage of sarcastic quips they fired off at each other, over and over, wounding, scarring, hurting.

Claire closed her eyes and tipped her chin up to kiss the hollow of Owen’s throat.

For now though, they had five more minutes.

And when those five minutes were over...well...

Claire made no move to get up. It was Saturday after all. Maybe...maybe she could sleep in. Just this once.


	2. Prompt: Kisses

“Claire, honey,” Owen pleaded. “You have every right to be upset that I missed your birthday but -”

Claire glanced up from the coffee maker in the break room and shot him a dirty look. Owen quickly plowed on.

“- but I promise I’ll make it up to you. I swear.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?”

Owen sputtered, floundering for a response. Before he could come up with an excuse, an explanation, anything at all, Claire turned her back on him. She ripped open a small container of cream - no sugar - and poured a splash in.

Owen simply didn’t have an answer for that. Claire would see right through him anyway. She was far too familiar with navigating the hellscape of empty lies and false charms for the sake of an audience, financial backing, pioneering a frontier of clones and dinosaurs.

Owen edged toward the door and flicked the lock closed. If he was going to make things right, he couldn’t have any interruptions. He stepped up behind Claire and slowly, carefully, placed his hands on her shoulders. 

Claire raised her head but she didn’t move, didn’t tell him off.

Owen swept her hair off of her neck and brought his mouth to the curve of her shoulder, just above her collar.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, his lips brushing her skin as he spoke.

Claire’s posture eased slightly. She turned her head to the side, fiddling with the cream container. At least she wasn’t pushing him away.

Owen placed a tiny kiss to her shoulder. Followed by another and another, trailing up to her neck. When he felt the flutter of Claire’s pulse beneath his lips, he closed his mouth over her neck. Pressed the flat of his tongue to her pulse.

Claire’s head dropped back against his chest and she couldn’t quite stifle the depraved moan that escaped her lips.

“Shit,” she rasped, covering her mouth with one hand.

She twisted away from Owen and held up a finger.

“Stop,” she said.

“But you always love it when I do that.”

Claire shook her head so hard, her hair flew out in a fiery halo. “No. No, no, no.”

Owen raised an eyebrow, amused at the crack in Claire’s composure, granting him a glimpse of how flustered she was. He took a step toward her, his hand slipping around her waist.

Claire sucked in a breath and looked away, one hand still at her mouth. Owen took her hand and kissed her knuckles. Another kiss at the inside of her wrist. More kisses up the inside of her forearm.

Claire made a small noise in the back of her throat, caught between a squeal and a giggle that she was attempting to strange into silence.

By the time Owen had kissed his way up Claire’s arm to her shoulder, she was looking at him again, her eyes bright with laughter, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth with anticipation.

“This doesn’t get you off the hook,” she said. “I’m still mad at you.”

Owen hummed as he shifted closer, wrapping his arms around Claire’s waist. He dipped his head, skimming his lips against her mouth in the teasing promise of a kiss.

“Whatever you say, babe,” he replied.


	3. Prompt: FREE DAY

A small sound dragged Owen to consciousness. He opened his eyes, glancing over the hotel room, swathed in the blue-gray shadows of midnight. Without thinking, he stretched an arm out for Claire...

Her side of the bed was empty, the sheets long since grown cold.

Owen sat up. The silhouette of Claire’s shoes were still neatly lined up next to the door, in comparison to the messy sprawl of his own muddy boots.

A muffled hiccup echoed from the vicinity of the bathroom. Owen slid out of bed, crept to the door and slowly pushed it open.

The light was off but Owen could make out the figure of Claire, huddled between the sink and the bathtub. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her hands clamped over her mouth to stifle her sobs.

“Claire?” Owen whispered.

She startled and her head snapped up. At the sight of Owen in the doorway, Claire ducked her head again in an attempt to hide her face. But it was too late. He’d already seen her tears.

“It’s nothing,” Claire said, her voice wet and trembling. “Go back to bed.”

Owen stepped into the bathroom and knelt in front of her. “Sure looks like something to me.”

Claire hastily swiped at her cheeks and waved him off. “I’m fine.”

Owen caught her wrist, his thumb sliding into her palm. “No,” he said. “You’re not.” He paused and curved his hand over the top of her knee. “And that’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

Claire pressed her lips into a tight, thin line, struggling to maintain her fragile grip on her composure.

“It’s just...” she started, her voice cracking.

“Nightmares,” Owen finished for her.

Claire nodded and her face crumpled. She reached out, clutching at Owen’s t-shirt as she sagged against his chest. He shifted to sit on the floor and drew Claire onto his lap, skimming his thumb back and forth over her knee. He kissed the top of her head as she cried herself out and finally fell silent.

Neither of them moved from the bathroom floor for hours. And when dawn came in a flush of pink and gold, Claire was fast asleep.


	4. Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

“Goddamn it!” Owen roared, head bowed, shoulders hunched, face screwed up in pain.

Claire rolled her eyes, dabbing at his bloodied skin with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol.

“It’s not a big deal, Owen,” she said.

“You’re a butcher,” he growled.

“Owen,” Claire said, annoyed. She gestured to his damaged finger. “It’s a paper cut. Calm down.”

“Still hurts,” he mumbled, sulking.

Claire twisted her mouth to the side to smother her laughter. “You’ve survived the Navy and two run-ins with some of the most dangerous dinosaurs. But it seems a paper cut will be the thing that takes you down.”

Owen frowned. “Did you see how much I was bleeding earlier?”

“What I saw was a grown man practically on his knees, begging for the pain to stop.”

“I was  _not_ ,” Owen insisted with emphasis.

Claire hummed with amusement. She turned and gestured to Maisie.

“Maisie, sweetie, could you grab a band-aid for me?”

Maisie, surveying the scene between Owen and Claire with great interest, scrambled off of the bathtub ledge where she’d been perched. She reached over the sink, standing on tiptoe to retrieve the box of band-aids. She fished one out and handed it to Claire. 

Claire smoothed it in place over Owen’s finger. He held up his hand, examining the bright yellow band-aid with pink smiley-face flowers on it. Maisie’s doing. Ever since Claire and Owen had adopted her, everything was always pink and yellow, from bed sheets to band-aids.

"Still missing something,” he said.

Claire cocked a hip, the expression on her face already taking on that look as if to say,  _haven’t you milked the situation enough?_

“I can’t heal properly,” Owen said. “Until I get a kiss from my girls to make everything better.”

A giant grin bloomed on Maisie’s face. She leaped into Owen’s arms and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He glanced at Claire, waving her over. Claire gave a loud sigh and tucked herself under Owen’s arm, kissing his other cheek.


	5. Prompt: Memories

Claire was already awake when the sun rose. Owen shifted with a sigh, burying his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder.

“Ten years,” he said, mumbled against her skin.

Claire hummed, toying with Owen’s fingers absently. “Sometimes I don’t know how we made it this far.”

“Because of dinosaurs? Or because of me?”

Claire huffed a laugh. “Both. We’ve always been a disaster.”

Owen kissed the back of her neck. “Gotta keep you on your toes. Makes things exciting.”

“I’ve had enough adrenaline to last a lifetime and then some, thank you,” Claire replied.

“I think you like it. Secretly. But you won’t admit it to save face.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve seen you handle a gun. Twice. And you’re a damn good shot, Annie Oakley.”

Claire ducked her chin to hide a smile and burrowed deeper into Owen’s arms, pleased at the compliment.

“Are you trying to butter me up in the hopes you’ll get coffee out of the deal?” she said.

Owen laughed, a low, sleepy rasp at Claire’s back. “I’ve been married to you for ten years. I learned a long time ago that if I want coffee, I’d better make it myself.”

“Smart man.”

“Right now,” he added, propping himself up on an elbow. “I want to greet my wife with a proper good-morning.”

Owen scooped an arm around Claire’s waist and smothered her face in kisses until she was breathless with laughter.


	6. Prompt: FREE DAY

When Owen stepped into the house, he almost dropped the bags of groceries at the sight before him.

"Claire?" he said, his voice a little strangled with disbelief. "What are you doing?"

Claire turned to look at him, wooden spoon brandished in mid-air. There was flour dusted across her cheek, a streak of chocolate in her hair, and the counters looked as if a bomb had exploded.

"I'm making cookies," she said simply.

Owen sputtered in shock. "But you never cook."

Claire narrowed her eyes, mouth open to protest but Owen plowed on and added, "You're usually busy with other things. That's all I'm saying."

She studied him with a sidelong glance for a moment then decided to let him off the hook.

"Well, it's Christmas," she said. "When I was little, it was a family affair to make cookies and decorate them. I haven't made Christmas cookies since I left for college." She gestured to the swath of disaster on the counter with a shooing motion as if she didn't know what to do with it. "Thought I'd give it another shot."

"Oookay," Owen said cautiously. He didn't bother attempting to put the groceries on the counter. There just wasn't any room. Instead, he placed them on a chair. "Would you like some help?"

Claire shook her head. "No, I can handle it."

Owen couldn't bring himself to point out the one time she made pancakes and nearly set the kitchen on fire. 

For one thing, Claire would kill him for bringing up her failure. 

For another thing, Claire was...hopeful. Eager and enthusiastic to take on such a simple pleasure as baking cookies. She was so wrapped up networking, fundraising, and everything work-related that she didn't spend time on little things like this.

So Owen didn't argue the matter. He stepped back and gave Claire the kitchen, watching her navigate in a cloud of sugar and flour.

When the cookies were finished, Claire presented a plate of them to Owen. She clasped her hands as if in prayer, tucked under her chin as she watched him for a reaction.

The cookies were far from perfect. The edges were charred black. The icing was a lumpy mess. Rudolph's nose was more pink than red, oozing off his face in a puddle of icing on the plate. 

But Claire had made them and for that, Owen was proud of them.

He picked up a Rudolph cookie and took a bite. 

Well. He tried to.

It felt like he was biting a solid brick. Owen struggled to keep his face in a neutral expression as he ground down on the cookie with his molars until a piece finally snapped off.

"How does it taste?" Claire said. 

Before Owen could stop her, she snatched up a cookie.

"Claire, wait -"

Too late. Claire tossed the cookie on the counter in disgust.

"They're horrible!"

"No, honey, they're just -"

Claire shook her head, scooped up the plate and dumped the whole thing in the trash. "They are. Don't lie to me, Owen. You know I can't stand it." She snatched the cookie out of his hand. "And don't eat that. You'll break your teeth."

But as she turned away, Owen could see the disappointment in her face. He caught her around the waist and pulled her back towards him.

Claire sighed and covered her face with her hands. "Why did I think I could do this, Owen? It’s such a basic thing. Follow the instructions. It’s not complicated.”

"Hey," Owen said softly. "Don't talk like that."

Claire said nothing, fiddling with a pile of crumbs on the counter.

"How about we start over?" Owen offered. "We can do it together."

Claire shrugged. "I should just clean up."

Owen reached over the counter and swiped his finger through the container of frosting. He tapped his finger to Claire's nose, leaving a dollop of frosting behind.

Claire blinked, taken aback. Then she scooped up a handful of flour and lobbed it at Owen, hitting him square in the face. 

Within seconds, they were in all-out war, the cookies forgotten.


	7. Prompt: Holidays/Traditions

Christmas was a holiday divided between Owen and Claire.

Claire marched out of the bedroom, tugging the belt of her ruby-red cocktail dress into place.

“You could come with me for once, Owen,” she said.

Owen was on his knees in the living room, halfway under the couch as he snapped train tracks together.

“How many people are attending your party this year?” he said.

“Two hundred. And I managed to reserve a live orchestra for the evening.”

Owen made a face and picked up his miniature train, setting it on the tracks that wound throughout the landscape of the living room.

“I’ll pass,” he said.

Claire huffed and put a hand on her hip. “You’ve said that for the last three years.”

Owen made no response and clicked the red on button. The train started chugging along the track, sending up a tinny little whistle as it rounded the corner.

Claire shook her head and retrieved her snow-white coat from the rack.

***

When Claire returned from the party at 2am, she abandoned her shoes at the door. As she reached for the light switch, the Christmas tree blazed to life, casting Owen in a silver silhouette on the couch. He held a cup out to her, brimming with marshmallows, a candy cane hooked over the rim.

“Hot chocolate?” he said.

Claire sighed as she trudged to the couch and accepted the cup. “Extra marshmallows?”

“The biggest ones. With cinnamon and cloves on top.”

Claire smiled and carded her fingers through Owen’s hair. “Just the way I like it.”

She hitched a knee onto the couch and settled into Owen’s lap. She wrapped her hands around the warm mug as Owen kissed her temple. Claire snuggled against Owen’s chest and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“How was the party?” he said, the vibration of his voice a low rumble against Claire’s cheek.

“Wonderful,” Claire whispered, sipping her hot chocolate. “And exhausting.” She yawned and tucked her knees up toward her chest, curving her hand over Owen’s ribs. “Did you get your train to run the whole track?”

Owen shook his head, trailing his fingers up and down Claire’s back. 

“Had a little hiccup through the kitchen,” he replied. “Decided I’d leave it for tomorrow and make hot chocolate instead.”

“Good idea,” Claire mumbled sleepily.

Owen shifted, his chin brushing the top of Claire’s head as he reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. He pulled it around Claire’s shoulders.

“I got a new ornament for the tree this year,” he whispered.

Claire raised her head and blinked herself awake. “You did? Where is it?”

She turned to squint at the tree, examining the ornaments already hanging on the tree to see if she could spot it.

Owen reached behind the pillow on the couch and retrieved a package wreathed in sparkly red wrapping paper, tied off with a gold ribbon. He placed it in Claire’s lap.

Claire tugged the ribbon open, carefully unwrapped the paper...

“You’re not funny, Owen,” she said.

Nestled in a box was a raptor ornament.

“Handcrafted by yours truly,” Owen said. “Hunted all over the place, trying to find one but, you know, most stores don’t sell that kind of stuff.”

Claire traced the tiny brush strokes of blue paint along the raptor’s neck. She set her cup of hot chocolate on the coffee table and stood, tugging the blanket tighter around her shoulders. 

She surveyed the tree for a moment then selected a spot near the top of the tree, just beneath the star and hooked the raptor ornament over a branch. Front and center of the tree.

“Perfect,” she said.


End file.
